


Think Pink

by quailsareneat



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Fluff, M/M, extreme fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quailsareneat/pseuds/quailsareneat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata finally lets Souda colour his hair. Domestic au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think Pink

**Author's Note:**

> i went from writing dick-biting hinasouda smut to domestic AU god bless my soul

Hinata knows he's in good hands; his hair, he's not too sure about.

“Hold still, dude, I don't wanna get it in your ear,” Souda says. He dips the plastic bristle brush into the bleach mixture and brings it up to Hinata's head, slathering it on his boyfriend's hair.

“It burns, though! My scalp's all itchy,” Hinata whines. When Souda brought up the idea a couple nights ago, Hinata thought it sounded fun; What's the harm? he had told himself. Souda colours his hair all the time. It can't be that bad.

But the reality is that colouring is not the worst part. The worst part, Hinata decides, is definitely this bleaching bit. It's painful and smelly and he's not really digging the sensation of his scalp being burned and spat on by Satan himself and why did he ever let himself get talked into this? He can't believe Souda voluntarily puts up with this every time he touches up his roots.

“Alright, calm down, I'm just about finished,” Souda says, putting one last glob of bleach on Hinata's hair and rubbing it in. “I'll turn the fan on to clear out the fumes. It might feel good on your scalp, too.”

The light breeze does help a bit with the burning feeling, but not enough for Hinata to ignore it.

“We can wash it out now, right?” Hinata asks hopefully.

“Nope, gotta let it sit for twenty minutes,” Souda says, clearing up the supplies. He dumps all of the chemical-coated items into the garbage and washes his hands. He looks at Hinata's crestfallen face. “Sorry, I don't make the rules. Do ya want cool hair like mine or not?”

Hinata sighs and turns on the T.V., hoping that he can immerse himself in a show for the remaining time until he can wash his own personal hell off his scalp. He clicks through the channels, resisting the urge to scratch at his itchy hair. Slumping down in the computer chair, he settles for an episode of Cake Boss: mindless enough to get lost in, interesting enough to care about, and just educational enough to pretend that he's adding to his skill set by learning how to making icing roses.

Souda comes up to him and starts wrapping tinfoil around the bleach-coated hair. The unexpected touch and noise make Hinata jump, and he looks up at the mechanic questioningly.

“It'll help the bleach set,” Souda explains. He rips off another piece of tinfoil and applies it to his boyfriend's hair. He snickers. “It's a good look for you.”

After putting the tinfoil box back in the kitchen, Souda grabs a pillow off the couch and settles on the floor in front of Hinata, resting his back on Hinata's legs. Hinata swivels the chair slightly but Souda doesn't budge. He puts his hands on Souda's shoulders and massages absentmindedly, feeling all the knots in his boyfriend's back. Souda sighs happily and reaches back to awkwardly pat Hinata on the leg in thanks.

The twenty minutes pass in relative comfort; they watch the show in mostly silence, sometimes commenting on certain decorating techniques or the prank that Buddy & Friends pull that episode, and marvelling at the finished cake. Hinata only complains twice more about how badly his head hurts. Each time, Souda leans over, kisses him on the knee, and tells him, “Not much longer.” When the timer Hinata set on the microwave goes off, he leaps off the chai and into the kitchen.

Souda ambles after him, laughing at Hinata, who's bouncing on his feet and tearing at the tin foil on his head. His previously-brown hair is spiked up, somewhat crunchy, and unmistakeably lighter.

“Hold this over your eyes,” Souda says as he holds out a small towel. Hinata bends over the sink, holding the towel to his face. “Lemme know if the water is too hot.”

He turns the faucet and lets the water soften Hinata's hair, and starts rinsing out the bleach. Running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, he thinks to himself how nice it is to have a person with whom he can do stuff like this; he's not used to it, this comfortable, warm feeling.

“Okay, finished,” Souda says. He shuts off the tap and throws another towel onto Hinata's dripping head. Hinata rubs his hair tenderly, muttering about his scalp being permanently damaged. Grabbing the towel, Souda dries Hinata's hair for him, not listening to his boyfriend's whining and constant refrain of “Be careful!”. When he pulls the towel off, Hinata's hair is sticking out everywhere, no longer just the one abnormal piece.

Hinata walks over to the mirror in the hall and, when he yells, Souda comes running.

“What's wrong? Why did you – ”

“Why's it all yellow?! Shouldn't it be – be – not this?” Hinata is staring at his canary yellow hair, clearly convinced it's ruined.

“Relax, dude, I know what I'm doin'. You trust me, right?” Souda says. Hinata turns to him and nods. “Okay then. Next we gotta put in the toner, then we can colour it.”

Reassured but still a little shocked, Hinata goes back to the kitchen. He hadn't realised before what a process it is just to change hair colours; he has a new, baffling respect for Souda's dedication to his personal style (if it could really be called that).

He sits still while Souda applies the toner, sets another timer for 15 minutes, and keeps all his complaints about the smell in his head. He does trust Souda, so he doesn't want to be a grump the whole time. Especially since his boyfriend is taking the time to do all this for him; he doesn't want to make a fun memory into a bad one because he complains too much. They're sitting side by side on the couch, watching another show to pass the time, so Hinata reaches over to hold Souda's hand. He rubs his thumb absently over Souda's, enjoying the peaceful moment. He barely notices his painful scalp anymore.

The timer dings, and he finds himself over the sink again, water rushing over his hair. After rinsing out the toner, the strands of hair falling in his face don't seem nearly as yellow as before; it glints silvery in the light. Quickly drying off again, Hinata goes over to the mirror.

“Hey, it looks pretty good!” He says, unable to keep a hint of surprise out of his tone. He plays with his new hair, brushing it back, parting it, ruffling it up.

“I'm glad it's such a hit,” Souda says. “Told ya you could trust me.”

“So, what colour are you going to put in it?” Hinata says. He's still touching his hair, admiring the silver colour. His eyebrows are a dark contrast; it's a dramatic look, but he likes it.

“How 'bout a pink streak, so we can match,” Souda says. He grins and scratches his cheek. “I dunno, I thought the silver would suit ya, so I didn't buy any other colours. The only one I've got here is pink like mine.” He's not sure how much Hinata would want to match; it would sort of out them as a couple. Not that they're explicitly closeted, but they hadn't really made a habit of being romantic in public before, so as to avoid gross rumours and hatred. It was something they had both decided on before dating months ago.

“Pink, huh...,” Hinata says. He looks at himself in the mirror again. “So, like, a friendship bracelet but with hair. And more gay.”

Souda cracks up.

“Dude, we _are_ gay, what are you even gettin' at?” Souda says through his laughter. But there's a bit of hope in his chest; his boyfriend doesn't seem that against the idea. “But y'know, people would probably figure out about us.”

Hinata shrugs. He fiddles with a lock of hair and looks at Souda.

“What's the harm? I think pink would suit me anyway,” Hinata says, and smiles. “Besides, it's still better than those wretched camo speedos you tried to get me in.”

Sputtering indignantly, Souda smacks Hinata's arm lightly while the other laughs – and a mutter of “They aren't 'wretched'” can be heard – but he still goes and gets the bottle of pink dye. He applies it carefully to the white-ish hair, a single pink streak in Hinata's bangs. They repeat the process again of waiting and washing and drying. They walk over to the mirror together, Souda covering Hinata's eyes with his hand; they stumble a bit due to one party being temporarily blind, but make it eventually.

Souda takes his hands away.

“Ta-da!” He says, watching Hinata's reaction.

Hinata stares at himself again; it's not a huge change from the plain silver before, but the sentiment is different. He knows there are no take-backs now. As silly as it seems, this pink streak shows his dedication to the relationship, his trust that things will be fine.

“I told you pink suits me,” Hinata says, and kisses Souda sweetly on the mouth.


End file.
